Going Down in Flames
by SilentStorm1999
Summary: "If I'm going down, I'm going down in flames." -Marissa Glen. Marissa Glen is reaped at the 74th Hunger Games. She has a grudge against the Capitol for killing her best friend and is going to do whatever it takes to make sure that they do not win. This is what happens when a normal girl from the Seam who can't hunt, doesn't volunteer, and hates the Games gets reaped.
1. Chapter 1

**HELLO HUNGER GAMES FANDOM! I AM SILENT, ANd the caps lock was on, I apologize. ^^" I read all of the trilogy but Mockingjay, which I am in the middle of obtaining so I can read it. So...read on.**

**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns all but Marissa, Mike, and her parents, who are MINE.**

When I woke up on that day, the day that I dreaded most ever since last year, the room I'm in is empty. My parents were probably trying to find something to eat that wasn't rotten or stale. I shook my head, ridding it of the thoughts and memories of the 73rd Hunger Games, and got dressed so I could go run. Every day I run all around the Seam so I could just collect my thoughts and stretch my legs. Stretch—bad choice of words; made me remember him, and in a bad way too. My mother stops me at the door before I could go and get all sweaty like I do every day, and pushes me back inside. Because this isn't any other normal day—this is the day of the reaping.

The reaping is the day that the Capitol picks "one courageous man and woman to compete in the annual Hunger Games!" More like pick two children to be in a bloody fight to the death. Last year, my best friend was reaped, Mike Jackson. He died in the carnage, and I was forced to watch as he was brutally murdered by the winning tribute of the game. Ever since then I've had a very large hatred for the Capitol. Mike was the only true friend I had—sure, I knew other people, such as Katniss Everdeen and Madge Undersee, but I never really knew them. I'm not the most social person. Mike and I were friends only because he practically forced us to be friends. Although I accept that he's died, I still sometimes imagine what he would do or say in some situation.

"Marissa," my mother begged, "please don't run today. You won't have time to get ready for the reaping."

"Mom," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "Why would I want to look good for the reaping? If I get picked I'll get killed anyway!"

"Don't talk like that!" My father warned. "If you do get reaped then you want to look good for the Capitol people to get sponsors so that you will win the Hunger Games." We all know that's a lie, Dad. Sponsors didn't help Mike.

The way they were glaring at me made me stop. They wanted to protect me, not make me miserable. "Alright," I sighed, putting back my running shoes. "Alright." My parents know that the reaping system is unfair, with the poor getting the worst of it. We get tesserae by adding in my name extra times—tesserae is adding your name into the reaping extra times to get a years supply of grain and oil for one person. I lost count of how many I have in there this year, seeing as my memory is such a bitch. Both my parents work in the coal mines, but my parents push me to add my name in so that we don't starve. They think I have a good chance of winning. I know otherwise.

My mother already had a dress picked out for me. It was a simple white dress with a square neckline, and it went down to my knees. It was a very simple and plain dress, matched with the same shade of white shoes, and it contrasted with my tanned complexion, making it seem very pretty. "You look beautiful," she breathed.

"Thank you," I said smiling. I kissed her on the cheek and head over to the table to eat some of the small amount of bread that we bought just for today. My parents are barely eating, and I'm afraid that anything I eat will just come right back up, but I eat as much as I can handle anyways. I don't want it to go to waste, my parents spent good money on it.

At one I leave for the square. I give one last hug to my parents before going off to sign in and head over to my section. I'm sent into my age's section, and I stare at my shoes. While ignoring the video that plays, I can imagine Mike laughing at me for being so worried, saying that there's one in a billion chance that I'd be picked. I can also see his laughing face being grim in the Justice Building as we talked and said our goodbyes. He tried to win, as he promised—he was like a big brother to me—but failed. The last image that flashes in my mind is the look of horror on the screen that I saw as he was killed by a knife to his throat before I hear the sickeningly bubbly voice of Effie Trinket.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She beamed. I take a deep breath—the odds are a bit more in my favor seeing as I only have twenty drawings and not fifty or so. "Ladies first," she said as she always did, and crosses over to the bowl filled with the names of all the girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen. I look over to the twelve-year-olds and pray that it isn't one of them—twelve-year-olds wouldn't stand a chance. She pulled out a slip of paper and read out, "Marissa Glen."

I froze. What else would you do in that situation? People looked at me and moved, leaving me all alone. Effie motioned for me to walk up to the stage and my body moved for me. My mind was on auto, not being able to do much but walk and have less expression than a brick. "Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" Effie trilled. No one did anything, knowing that this is more of a death sentence than honor. Haymitch, the only living victor of District 12, stumbles around like the drunkard he is. I stared at the crowd, trying not to show any of the fear I was feeling on my face. "Well…ahem…it's time to choose our boy tribute!" Effie said, trying to ignore the silence. She makes her way to the bowl with the boys names, and I'm barely aware of the name she reads. "Peeta Mallark."

Weeeeelllllll that creates a bit of a problem there, Miss Effie Trinket, because of a little thing I like to call teenage hormones. You see…I've developed a little bit of a crush on said boy. He's the bread-maker's son, and although the irony of his name is hilarious, I think it suits him. He and I went to school together, and he was always really nice to everyone. Some days when Mike was taking care of his sick mother while his father was in the coal mines, and I was all alone, he would send me a smile or sit next to me, making me feel less alone. But I could always notice his glances at Katniss, signaling that he had a thing for her. I don't feel resentment towards Katniss, nor do I feel some kind of jealousy. This is just a crush, I would tell myself. It'll pass. That was three years ago. The crush has yet to pass, but it will. I mean, it's only a crush…

And I'm lying to myself. But I am perfectly fine with that, as long as it doesn't keep me from being killed by him. Effie asked for us to shake hands, and I gave him a small smile as he squeezes my hand during the shake. The anthem of Panem plays as we face the crowd for one last time and are hurried into the Justice Building.

I am left alone in a room filled with the richest things I have ever seen, thick carpets and couches and chairs with a nice felt covering them. My parents come into the room with the warning of three minutes to talk with me. I can't cry—there will be more cameras later. Crying would just hurt me later on. But when I see my mother's face with her puffy eyes and my father with a grave look tears well up.

"You can win this," my mom said, trying not to cry. "You just have to outsmart them and outrun them."

My father tried to give me a smile. "Maybe you can wait them out until everyone but the last tribute is there, and then if you kill them you can win."

"You guys know that I probably won't make it," I said, wiping away the tears. "But, I'm going to try."

"That's my little girl," My dad said.

I could hear Mike saying, "That's the Mari I know. Stop crying like a baby and show them you're different."

I smiled. "I'll miss you. And don't forget me, alright?"

"Promise," my mother sniffled.

"Promise," my father repeated. The Peacekeepers came in and I hugged them once more before they were pushed out of the room. The next person who came in was Madge.

"Madge?" I asked. "I wasn't expecting you here."

"Look," her tone of voice was urgent. "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?" She held out a circular gold pin with a mockingjay on it.

My eyes widened. "I can't, that thing is way too expensive for me to wear—"

She held out her hand to silence me. "I'll put it on your dress." She pinned it on my left shoulder then looked me in the eye. "You are worth more than you think. If you're going to go out, go out with a bang, got it?"

I smiled. "Got it." We hugged, and she was ushered out the door.

Katniss bursts through next, and hugs me instantly. I freeze for a second then hung her back, not really expecting the awkward hug. "I'll miss you," she said when she let go. "But you have to try and win. I've seen you run—use that to your advantage. Also try and learn to use something—anything—as a weapon. Even the smallest knife can be deadly."

I nodded, taking in her words. "Alright. I saw Prim earlier—you take care of her, got it?" She smiled at the mention of her sister and nodded. The Peacekeepers began to show her out of the room, and she showed me the old District 12 sign, holding three fingers to your lips then holding them in the air. I raised an eyebrow but she just smiled and left.

We went into so that we could head over to the train station. It was a short ride, but it was still really weird. In the Seam we only travel on foot. I was biting my lip and freaking out the whole time. Peeta's eyes were swollen and red, showing he's been crying and he's not even trying to hide that fact. There were so many cameras at the train station that it freaked me out big time. I ignored Mike's voice in my head to hold my head up high and smile to the cameras, and did what my cowardly instincts told me to do—I put my head down and tried to not look at the cameras, scared out of my wits. We had to stand in the doorway of the train, while the cameras took a bunch more pictures of us, before they opened and allowed us inside. The second after we were inside the train began moving.

I have never been on a train, ever. But this was much different than what I was expecting. It was going so fast, one of those high-speed models that went 250 miles per hour. Effie tells us to do whatever and wear whatever we want, that everything was at our disposal. We were sent into our rooms; when I was in mine I took off the white dress and put on black pants and a purple shirt made out of some fabric I had never heard of.

I add on the little gold pin right on the sleeve of the purple shirt, and look at it. It had the mockingjay in a gold ring standing on an arrow. The mockingjay made me smile—it was like a slap in the face to the Capitol. During the rebellion that caused the Hunger Games, the Capitol bred a series of genetically altered animals as weapons. The common term for them was muttations, or sometimes mutts for short. One was a special bird called a jabberjay that had the ability to memorize and repeat whole human conversations. They were homing birds, exclusively male, that were released into regions where the Capitol's enemies were known to be hiding, and basically just recorded conversations. It took people awhile to realize what was going on in the districts, how private conversations were being transmitted, then the rebels fed the Capitol endless lies, and the joke was on it. So the birds were abandoned to die off in the wild, but the jabberjays mated with female mockingbirds creating a whole new species that could replicate both bird whistles and human melodies and sounds. I loved mockingjays because of the fact that even though the Capitol wanted them to die, they didn't. Their will to survive was greater than their will to do whatever the Capitol wanted them to.

That reminded me of…well…me. The Capitol wants me to die, and I probably will, considering the fact that I don't have any skills to help me. But I'm going to make sure that I will not be easily forgotten, just like the mockingjay.

**Now I know you guys might hate me...I started another story when NONE of my multi-chapter stories are completed, but if you kill me, I won't be able to finish any of them! So yes, I started a Hunger Games fanfic, and yes, I plan on finishing it. This is going very close to the book, but my character will not be a carbon copy of Katniss. This will have movie qualities, and you will see them in there. I wanted to do this because I bought the movie and watched it last night (I CAN WATCH IT FOREVER ITS SO GOOD BUT WHY DIDN'T PEETA LOOSE HIS LEG HE SHOULD'VE LOST HIS LEG AND KATNISS WITH HER EAR THAT NEEDED TO HAPPEN OMG FEELS AUFYSBUVINOMOINYKJP) so I decided to write this! Please review and all flames will be used by the Gamemakers. No, seriously, don't flame, I take things like that to heart. Constructive criticism though, would be nice-I really want to improve my writing. I LIVE off of reviews...and air...and water...and food...well this just got awkward. Um...bye.**


	2. Chapter 2

Effie comes in as soon as I sit down on the giant bed that is in the room I'm in, and tells me to come and eat. I follow her and make sure not to marvel at the beautiful glass and silver things everywhere. They were just going to pamper us, make us feel safe, and then kill us. That's what they do, what they've done for 74 years. When we get to the table, there's a seat next to Peeta and Effie motions for me to sit there. I chew on the inside of my lip to keep from blushing at the close proximity, but when I taste blood I let go. By then the blush had passed.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asked.

"Last I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," Peeta said.

"More like drink more in his room and pout that he has to train more tributes," I muttered with a small smile. "That's a thought—Haymitch pouting…" I noticed that Peeta was smiling; he probably heard me.

"Well it has been an exhausting day," Trinket said. No it hasn't, all you've done is read two people's names and then show us around! What's exhausting about that?

The dinner comes in courses. Carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and a chocolate cake. Effie tells us the whole time not to eat a lot because there's more to come, and it's all I have to not just ravage through and eat as much as I can. It may be a Capitol meal, but hey, free food! And it tastes amazing!

"At least you two have manners," Effie said. I clenched my fists and stopped eating. If she says one bad thing about them—"The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

I gripped the edge of my seat and looked Trinket dead in the eye. "Say one more thing," I muttered darkly, releasing the chair from my death grip. "One more. I dare you." I didn't eat anything else after that. Mike never had enough to eat. My parents offered to give him some extra bread or some food but he always declined, wanting to work for it. Being in front of this much food would've been like torture to him, had he not been allowed to eat it. She had no right to say one bad thing about him or Elena, the other tribute. She didn't know them!

We had to go to another compartment to watch all the reapings across Panem. I couldn't remember a lot of them, but there was a terrifyingly huge boy who volunteers from District 2. A red-headed girl from 5. The worst was a twelve-year-old girl from 11, named Rue. She was so little—and no one volunteered to save her. Lastly they show ours, but it's just like all the others. Nothing special; and I wonder if our names were lost to the wind of the other tributes that had to watch. I wondered if they put us off as scrap meat from the minute we walked on stage. Even if I had a huge chance of death, I was not going to be some easy target.

Effie made a comment about how Haymitch was acting on stage, but I didn't pay any attention to it. "He's drunk every year," Peeta said.

Every day, I thought, and smirked at the thought. "Yes," Effie hissed, "How very odd you two find it amusing. He will be your lifeline in the Games—the one who advises you, gets your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any and all gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between life and death!"

Haymitch stumbled in and slurred, "I miss supper?" And proceeded to vomit all over the floor. I pinched my nose and covered my mouth so I wouldn't vomit also—that'd be too much.

"So laugh away!" Effie finished. She danced around the pool of vomit and walked out in her pretty pink shoes.

I looked at Peeta, then back at the slipping and sliding mentor that we had. Effie was right about one thing—he was going to be our lifeline. I swallowed the feeling of nausea and went over to Haymitch with the bread boy, and we each picked up one of his arms. "I tripped?" Haymitch asked. "Smells bad." He wiped his mouth on his hand, smearing vomit all over his face.

"Come on," I said, trying to get the guy to his feet.

"Let's get you back to your room," Peeta offered. "Clean you up a bit." We half-led half-carried Haymitch to his room, where we haul him into the bathtub and turn the shower on. He doesn't even notice. Peeta probably noticed my shifting state. I really don't like the idea of stripping him down, it made me uncomfortable. "It's okay, I'll take it from here," he said.

"I really don't want to leave you with all of that," I said, motioning to Haymitch. "But…" I finished with a small open-mouthed smile, unlike the ones I'd given earlier, and a what-can-you-do shrug.

Peeta smiled. "It's fine."

"Thanks," I breathed, and walked out of the bathroom. "I'll just…go to my room now…"

Peeta laughed at this and I smiled. At least my being awkward was entertaining. I took a shower, rinsing away the day's troubles, before changing into a pair of flowing nightclothes. Not a nightgown, no way. Dresses were NOT something I liked in any way, shape, or form—they restricted movement in my running and weren't practical. I only wore them for my mother on the day of the reaping. I was glad that Peeta was being nice to me still, even when we were going to possibly have to kill each other. He's already sort of on my mind, so why not make some nice memories while I still can?

I thought about some nice memories that I had with my family. I remembered one of my parents' anniversaries. My father had saved enough money to get my mother a small silver pendant on a leather necklace. It was shaped as a bird taking off in flight and he said that it meant that there was the hope in this life. My mother never took it off since. I smiled at that thought and shut myself beneath the soft comforters of the bed and let the train rock me into a dark sleep.

The next thing I know Effie Trinket is knocking on my door yelling, "Up, up, up, it's going to be a big, big, big day!" I sat up, glared at the door, and threw the pillow I was sleeping on at it. I guess she took that as an "Okay, I'll get up," because nothing happened after that. I fell back onto my sheets, but by then the light had filtered down onto where my head was and I knew I wasn't going to get any more sleep. I put on the same pair of black pants but opt for a white shirt instead, and put the mockingjay pin back on. I took my hair and put it in a ponytail so it didn't get in my way, but allowed a lock of hair to fall next to my face. I go into the dining place again, where Effie was muttering curses, Haymitch was looking as drunk as ever, and Peeta seemed slightly embarrassed.

I sat down next to him, and this time the urge to blush doesn't come. I brush it off as morning problems and look at the food I was served—a platter of eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes. There was a bowl of fruit in ice to keep it chilled and a basket of rolls. All this food could keep several families alive in the Seam that are dying from starvation. There's some orange juice that I think is orange juice—what other fruit is orange? There was a cup of coffee and some lighter brown liquid. Peeta must've caught my confused expression because he said, "That's called hot chocolate. It's really good."

I smiled and took a sip of it, making me back away from the heat for a second before drinking more. The scorching hot chocolate tasted amazing the way it is, it doesn't matter if it killed my taste buds along the way. I set the cup down before I wasted it and began eating the eggs and potatoes. Those alone could've been enough to fill me up, but I finished off the hot chocolate before stopping my food demolition. I look at Haymitch who wasn't eating but having a staring contest with some drink, most likely alcohol, and Peeta was dunking his bread in hot chocolate. I glared at the drunkard.

"So you're supposed to give us advice?" I asked, trying to see if he'd get the hint.

"Here's some advice," he said. "Stay alive." He then laughed.

I clenched my jaw. It's his fault we never won the Games—we could have a chance if we got the sponsors, but no one wanted to work with a drunkard like him. I was about to voice this opinion when Peeta knocked the blood red liquid out of his hands. "That's very funny," he said. "Except not to us."

Haymitch thought about that for a second before punching Peeta in the jaw. I picked up the knife and aimed to stab his hand, but only barely missed his fingers. "What's that?" the man asked, looking at us. "Did I get a pair of fighters this year?" Peeta went to scoop up some ice to put on the red mark on his face, but Haymitch stopped him. "No, let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"But, isn't that illegal?" I asked.

"Only if they catch you," Haymitch pointed out. "That bruise will show you've fought and didn't get caught, even better." He looked at me. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides the table?"

I shrugged. "I could probably hit someone from close up with it, get some deep cuts in. Maybe throw it…" He motioned for me to try and do something with it, so I picked it up and aimed for the board in the wall across from us. It hit smack dab in the middle, and I smiled a little. Maybe I shouldn't count myself out just yet.

"Stand over here. Both of you," says Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. Every time he poked me, I had to resist the urge to try and break his finger. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." I knew that we had to be pretty for the sponsors, it was plain logic. "Okay I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober long enough to help you. But you have to do everything I say."

It's good enough for me. I look over at Peeta and nod ever-so-slightly. "Fine," he said.

"Good," Haymitch said. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put into the hands of stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you, but no matter what it is, don't resist."

I nodded. How hard could it be?

* * *

Let me tell you—it was definitely hard not to resist what they did to me. It was like they got rid of all the hair on my body that wasn't on my face! Back to what happened when we got off the train, I tried to ignore the Capitol people as they cheered us on, but Peeta was waving to them, as nice as ever. When I questioned him about this, he shrugged and said, "Who knows? One of them might be rich." He had a point, if I was nicer I might be prone to more sponsors. Although I really hated these people, should I be nice to them so I could possibly win? I'd have a much better chance of making their lives terrible if I still lived after this. So, I shrugged, and gave a smile to the people around me.

I was led to my stylists and prep team and they did what I said above—got rid of practically_ every single hair_ on my body. I try not to make any noise, and no one speaks to me. I glare at them the entire time, but no one seems to think any different, like I'm some kind of project they're working on and not an actual person. They're muttering to each other and I catch the words, "Cinna," and "done all we can," and shit like that. They all leave and I'm stuck there on the table. I sit up in the thin robe I was wearing, ignoring the fact that I'll probably be in trouble for moving or something.

Cinna, I guessed, walked in. He actually didn't seem all that bad—everyone else in the Captiol completely changed themselves, but he seemed pretty normal, with only a touch of gold eyeliner that brings out his eyes. It actually looked good, for once, and made me think of him as a normal person instead of a monster. "Hello, Marissa, I'm Cinna, your stylist."

"Hello," I answered, not wanting to be rude and not answer but at the same time not wanting to say too much to him. I've never seen him, never met him. It scared me.

"Come on, follow me and we'll have a chat," he motioned for me to follow him. I was led to a room with a couple of couches, and I sat down on one. Our lunch came out from in between the table, and I stared at it indifferently, or at least, what I hoped was an indifferent face. It was chicken with chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy white sauce atop grain, peas and onions, rolls upon rolls of delicious-looking bread, and some honey-colored pudding. This is almost disgusting to me—these people of the Capitol have all this food and don't even think about sending some to any of the Districts, they probably eat themselves sick and don't even care! What do they do besides sit around and decorate their bodies before the newest shipment of tributes come in so they can watch brothers and sisters die. Those people had families and they just watch them kill one another on a giant screen, having the time of their lives. It's sickening. I looked up to find Cinna looking me in the eye. "How despicable we must seem to you." I snort. Despicable is one word for it.

"No matter," he sighs. "So, about your opening ceremonies outfit. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes. As you know, it's customary to reflect the flavor of the district."

Flavor is a funny way to put it, I thought. Every year I've seen it, they always dress up our tributes in horrible coal miner outfits—but not like the ones we wear, no, some skimpy outfit they design with a coal miner helmet, because that makes _all_ the difference. I love sarcasm. "So, we're going to be in coal miner outfits," I said.

"Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that the coal miner thing is very overdone. No one will remember you in that. This time, we want to do something different. And we see that its our job to make you two unforgettable."

We'll be naked, won't we.

"We want to focus on the coal itself."

Naked and covered in black dust.

"And what do we do with coal?" He asked. "We burn it."

A few hours later I was a black unitard that covered me from neck to ankle and black boots that went up to my knees. There was a cape made of fluttering orange, yellow, and red, and a headpiece to match. Cinna, the mad scientist, wanted to light it ON FIRE. "It's not real flame, of course," Cinna starts. "Just a little synthetic fire Portia and I came up with." But I could only think, I'm going to die, I'm going to burn to death.

My hair is in my first side ponytail, with the lock of hair hanging down and everything. "I want the audience to recognize you," Cinna said, "Marissa, the girl who was on fire."

Later we're standing on a chariot with such well-trained horses that they don't need reins. "Yeah, I'll be remembered—as Marissa, the burnt piece of wood," I whispered to Peeta. He didn't reply and I was a little disappointed that my humor wasn't appreciated.

"I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine," he said a moment later.

I smirked. "Deal."

A moment passed before I heard, "Where's Haymitch? Isn't he supposed to keep us alive before the tournament?"

"I'm glad he's not here. With the amount of alcohol he drinks he'll be up in flames as well," I joked. He and I laughed, and I felt comfortable standing there with him, joking around and about to face the…Capitol people. Way to kill a mood. District 1 went out; spray-painted silver like the luxury items their District makes. District 2 went into position to follow, then on and on until it was our turn. Right as we were about to leave, Cinna lit us and our headdresses on fire.

"It works," he breathed, and I was surprised that I didn't burn, but felt…tickled slightly. "Now hold your head up and smile! They're going to love you!"

"Hold your head up? Heard that before, never worked at home," I whispered to myself. Cinna then shouts something and I miss it because of the music. Peeta nudged me, and smiled. He looked amazing with the flames surrounding his face, and I guessed I looked similar as well. I smiled a little back, then asked, "What's he saying?"

"I think to hold hands," he said, and grabbed my right hand with his left. I had to keep myself from blushing and looked at Cinna for conformation. He nodded and gave us a thumbs up before we were carted into the city.

I looked up at all the Capitol people and smiled, waving with one hand and keeping a firm grip on Peeta with the other. If he were to let go, I would've lost balance and fallen. Everyone was cheering, and I couldn't keep in the fact that as much as I hated it, their excitement was catching like a cold. I laughed a little, not being able to hide anymore. I was on fire—no one could forget that. Would I have a chance of winning? These people seem to like me, but they've never seen my abilities. I can only run really fast and possibly use some knifes to kill people. When we enter the City Circle, I realize how hard I'd been gripping Peeta's hand. I was scared to let go, but loosened my iron grip a little. When I did, he just grasped harder. "No, don't let go," he said. "I might fall out."

I smiled. "I just thought I could leave you with _some_ feeling in your hand." He laughed quietly, and everything stopped as President Snow gave the official welcome. We were sent around once more before heading into the Training Center. The doors shut and we were engulfed by the prep team. This time, they were gushing about how great we looked. Portia sprayed this stuff on the flames to extinguish them and they get rid of the outfits. The other tributes were glaring at us and I knew we had outdone them, so I just sent a smug smirk their way. I realized I was still holding onto Peeta, and I forced my stiff fingers to open so he could get some blood circulation in there. "Sorry about that," I muttered, rubbing my hand.

"No problem. Thanks for holding on, I was getting a little shaky out there," he admitted.

"You were getting shaky?" I raised an eyebrow. "I was holding on because I was afraid that if I didn't I'd fall flat on my face."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," he said with a smile. I smiled back, wondering if my smile meant as much to him as it meant to me. Probably not, though.

The Training Center has a tower designed for the tributes and their teams. It's basically our home before the games. Each District has an entire floor, and us being 12, we get the highest one. The elevator was smooth and made of glass, so all the people from below look like ants by the time we get where we were supposed to, which didn't take long at all. Effie's talking the whole time about how she gossiped with the sponsors about how great we are and how we "overcame the barbarism of our District."

"Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'" I laughed. That wasn't true—pearls come from shellfish. And if she meant the lie about coal turning into diamonds, that's not true either, graphite can be though. But we don't mine graphite. That was District 13's job before…well, you know.

"Unfortunately I can't seal the sponsor deals for you, only Haymitch can do that," she said grimly. "But I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if I have to."

* * *

My quarters are humongous. The shower alone has a panel with more than a hundred options you can choose regulating water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging sponges. When you step out on a mat, heaters come on that blow-dry your body. Instead of struggling with the knots in my wet hair, I merely placed my head on a box that sent a current through my scalp, untangling, parting, and drying my hair almost instantly. I got dressed after the shower and sat on the giant bed. There was a window that could show you different surroundings. I guessed it was to remind you of home, but it just seemed too real for me to actually enjoy it. I nearly threw the remote at it, but Effie knocked on the door, calling me to dinner before I got the chance.

There were people in white serving us food, and I decline everything they offer. I'm not trying to be rude, but I feel uncomfortable with them serving us the way they are. We were talking about the strategies we could have with Haymitch, Peeta, Effie, and the stylists. While everyone talks, I just eat the noodles in some green sauce and some bread. A girl set a cake on the table then set it on fire.

I smiled at the girl in thanks before she hurried away. We ate the cake and watched the opening ceremonies again, when Haymitch asked, "Who's idea was the hand holding?"

"Cinna," Portia answered.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion," the drunkard said. "Very nice." Rebellion? But we just held hands… "Training starts tomorrow morning. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it. But for now, get some sleep and let the grown ups talk."

I glare at him as we leave. He addressed us as children, making me at least feel smaller than I really was. When we reach our doors, he stops in front of my door, not blocking me from going into my room, but telling me he wants to talk. "Have you been to the roof yet?" He asked. I shook my head, confused. "Cinna showed me. You can see pretty much the whole city. It's a bit windy though." Does he just want to talk?

"Can we go there?" I asked. I wouldn't mind being able to talk to him, it's not like I had the chance to at home. I was too afraid of what he would say, but now that I'm about to die, it's now or never.

"Sure," he said, "follow me." We went up a flight of stairs before opening a door to the cool, windy air. I raise my arms and drop them as I breathed in fresh air and not the weird, sterile air that was in all the buildings. We go to the edge and I see bunches of people buzzing around. By now I'd be going to bed back home.

"I asked Cinna why they let us up here," Peeta said, and I looked over at him. "Weren't they worried we'd jump right off the side?"

"And what'd he say?" I questioned.

"You can't." He reached out into what was seemingly open space. There was a zap and he pulled it back. "There's a force field that would make you come right back up."

"Always worried about our safety," I muttered.

"Tell me about it," he added. "Come look at the garden."

On the other side of the dome, they've built a garden with flower beds and potted trees. From the branches hang hundreds of wind chimes, which account for the tinkling I heard. Here in the garden, on this windy night, it's enough to drown out two people who are trying not to be heard. "So what'd you want to talk about?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I really don't know what made me want to talk to you, but I decided to go out on a limb."

"Ah," I said, looking at some of the flowers. "Come here and look," I said. I pointed to a flower that seemed like an oval with a bunch of little flowers all over it. "This one is a hyacinth. And this one," I pointed to a one with six red petals with white on the edges, "Is my favorite, a stargazer lily. This one, over here," I pointed to a yellow daisy-looking one with red down the center of each petal, "is a gazania."

Peeta smiled. "And you know this because…?"

I shrugged. "My mother loved flowers. She showed me all different types. Even when I see a simple dandelion, I don't think of it as a weed, I think of it as a flower, and when it turns white, I think of it as a wish. My dad told me when I was younger that when you wished on a dandelion, it comes true, and I still think that to this day. Even if all it does is spread seeds," I added, smiling.

"Why do you run?" He asked suddenly. I looked at him weird.

"It's been a good stress reliever," I answered, closing my eyes and feeling the petals of the stargazer lily. I opened them to see Peeta smiling at the sight of what I was doing. "What?" I asked indignantly. "It's okay to be weird sometimes bread boy."

Peeta just shook his head, laughing quietly. I stood up and rubbed my eyes. "Well, I'm going to go to bed. We have to wake up in the morning for a big, big, big day!" I said, mocking Effie in the last part. I turned and went to my room, not really paying attention to anything. I accidentally knocked into someone, making them drop what they were holding. "I am so, so sorry," I apologized, looking at who it was. It was the girl who set the cake on fire.

I gave her the clothes and she set off without a word. I looked after her and went into my room, falling asleep without even changing into nightclothes.

**Okay here's chapter two, I hope you enjoyed it! This will most likely be my last chapter of freedom, because summer break is ending for me on Monday. Dang it. Well, lemme explain a couple of things here-the flower thing was a spur-of-the-moment, 10:00 at night idea to replace the story of the Avox girl. Marissa doesn't know her, so she couldn't really do what Katniss did, but I really wanted her and Peeta to have some time together during the story and not just little things beforehand so that the quote unquote "relationship" doesn't seem rushed to you guys. Then, I would also like criticism/freedback on the way she got defensive of the tributes from last year at the beginning of the chapter, and on how she acted during the opening ceremonies. Does it seem bipolar? I think it might seem bipolar...**

**But anyways, please review and follow and favorite, but mainly review, because although I love that people are reading it, I want to know if my writing is good and how to improve. I would like to be an author when I get older, and for the moment this is the best place for feedback. I am in the middle of an original that is taking its time with the creative process, let me tell you, but this feedback also makes me feel good. So, remember that please.**

**Oh and this is another reason why I won't be able to update as often during the school year. Top Band, Algebra, Spanish (a new language for me, never spoken it, so that'll be brutal) etc, so I'll be pretty busy with homework and crap.**

**Also, if you look at my profile, please be warned that the first...two stories or so are TOTAL AND UTTER CRAP. PLEASE IGNORE THEM. The one-shot and above should be safe, but other than that, please don't read it unless you want your eyes to burn. At least...that's how I feel and I know that I'm my worst critic but, you know.**

**So, I think I covered everything...bye! -poof-**

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**(That looks SO COOL xD so please review)**


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